


For Science!

by audience_cat



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Blowjobs, M/M, Oral, Public Sex, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 22:13:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audience_cat/pseuds/audience_cat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every puff of warm hair causes a barely-there tick of the needle, every kiss a flicker, and when Carlos moves so the next breath of warm air and tease of tongue brushes over his ear, Cecil is proud of the fact that his voice remains steady even as the needle flicks up to the red and back again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Science!

**Author's Note:**

> For the Night Vale Community Kink Meme, prompt: blowjobs on air (http://nightvalecommunitykink.dreamwidth.org/822.html?thread=43830#cmt43830).

Carlos is doing his usual weekly readings around the office, notebook and little grey box in one hand, a definitely-not-a-writing implement in the other, making symbols on the paper which may or may not correspond to the readings given out by the box as its needle swings back and forth. He checks the usual spots, the shelving where intern Dana - or her double - died, just outside Management's door, the odd stain on the carpet that Cecil doesn't have the heart to tell him was where an intern once dropped his coffee, and of course, Cecil's microphone. He bends over Cecil's shoulder as he does the last, and Cecil mildly regrets not being able to inhale that perfect scent, as he is currently reading out the latest message from their sponsors, and pacing is critical to keeping his listeners interested.

The grey box, as usual, flips the needle up to the red outlined section of the dial, and the light on the top blinks furiously in cadence with Cecil's voice. Carlos make a few bars at the end of his notepad, and draws back, gently kissing the nape of Cecil's neck as he withdraws, and oh, that's rather nice. Shivers dance down Cecil's spine - the nice ones, the ones that leave pleasant tingles in their wake, not the crawling sensation followed by a numbing coldness that one usually experiences in Night Vale. Cecil closes his eyes briefly, and continues to read out the latest report from the Desert Flower Arcade and Bowling Complex, as Carlos gently kisses the back of his neck again, warm breath puffing softly against the raised hairs on Cecil's neck. And again, a brush of lips and was that a hint of tongue? Cecil finds himself somewhat distracted, and opens his eyes to skim his notes - something he rarely does, but who can blame him for being a little distracted? The next kiss to his neck coincides with a flick of the needle on the grey box being held in front of the Cecil's chest, and so does the next, and finally it dawns on Cecil that Carlos is, in fact, doing science on him.

Every puff of warm hair causes a barely-there tick of the needle, every kiss a flicker, and when Carlos moves so the next breath of warm air and tease of tongue brushes over his ear, Cecil is proud of the fact that his voice remains steady even as the needle flicks up to the red and back again. Carlos makes almost silent, somewhat pleased humming sound, and a dark hand skims down the front of Cecil's shirt and gently cups him through his trousers. Cecil's voice remains steady, his cadence even  and his pitch perfect as Carlos gently massages him through his trousers, stopping occasionally to make the occasional scratch on his notepad, before that warm hand once again returns, kneading and squeezing.

There is the slightest pause as the fly on his pants is quietly drawn down, and Cecil draws out the pause into a dramatic, foreboding silence before concluding his report. A good recovery, and he spends the next second between segments swatting at Carlos's hand - gently! and doing his best glare while he can feel red heat creeping across his cheekbones. He grabs a hold of Carlos's wrist but there's only the sound of the notepad fluttering to the floor before the other hand undoes the button on Cecil's trousers and gently pulls his hardening erection into a more comfortable position in his briefs. Carlos edges his way between Cecil and his desk, and props the grey box between Cecil's stomach and left thigh. Cecil is rather unimpressed, but he's finding himself increasingly reliant on his notes, and has to quickly shuffle to the next page one handed, as he's still holding Carlos's wrist in the other.

Really, there must be a limit to these things, and he's rather sure that this, unlike other rules of Night Vale, is one that Carlos is well aware of. There's a gleam in his eyes that says he knows exactly what he's going as he runs nails over Cecil's cloth covered erection, even has those eyes stay fixed to the dial on the grey box. Perhaps this is another case, like the definitely-not-a-writing-implement now lying on the carpet near Cecil's foot, where Carlos is well aware of the rules and is simply choosing to ignore them, or work around them. After all, the rules state that Carlos cannot interrupt the show, and Cecil prides himself on his ability to continue even under soul wrenching pain, rampaging monstrosities, unscheduled teleportations and now, a warm tongue licking of the head of his cock where it's peeking out from the waistband of his underwear.  
So continue he does, reporting on the latest dire messages from the angels via Old Woman Josie, the mysterious puddle of tar-black ooze seeping out from the doors of the bathroom in the post office, and the mournful, yet somehow inviting melodies drifting on the breeze from the Whispering Forest. And meanwhile Carlos's clever mouth sucks, and licks, and Cecil grows increasingly more reliant on his notes. He feels that the hint of breathlessness as Carlos bobs his hand and mouth down up and down slightly out of time works well with his description of the latest monument to appear outside of town, although the occasional pauses as Carlos's tongue flicks over the head of his cock may be a little more frequent than he would like, but hey, one can expect to be slightly at a loss for words when a rainbow oil slick covers half of the town hall in a radiant, shimmering, deadly glow.

However, Cecil is now almost reading word-for word from his notes, and it's a struggle to keep his breathing regular. He's beginning to feel light-headed, the studio is far too hot, and he bats at Carlos insistently, even going so far as to tug at those glorious locks in an attempt to urge him to slow down. His only reward is the repeated firm swipe of a tongue back and forth over the head of his cock, and as Cecil glances down and he pulls on Carlos's perfect hair, he sees Carlos's perfect mouth stretched around his cock, and the scientist's eyes fixed on _Cecil_ , not the grey box, even as it flashes urgently. Cecil manages "and now, the weather", flips the feed to the pre-recorded segment, and comes hard into Carlos's willing mouth, curling around the microphone, one hand fisted in Carlos's hair and the other crumpling his notes into disarray.

His head remains resting against the base of the mic stand as Carlos draws off with a soft wet sound, and immediately reaches for the not-a-writing-instument and pad of paper. The grey box has at some point fallen off of Cecil's lap and onto the floor, and that too is scooped up and stuffed into a coat pocket as Carlos exits the studio, a grin on his face. Cecil manages to give the most heated glare he can muster (he admits, it probably lacked force) and does up his trousers before attempting to get his notes into some sort of order before the weather ends - after all, the show must continue.


End file.
